Sticky Situation

Well, the sun rises this morning on a household with eggs and mushrooms in the refrigerator and not one functioning non-stick frying pan anywhere. Over the weekend I tried to have one last whirl with one that was still sort of nonsticking and it stuck badly. I hacked the omelet out of the pan like a geologist freeing some mineral specimen from the surrounding schist. And I looked back over a misspent life.

I got interested in food as a callow stripling. I wanted food like I got in nice restaurants and in travels in Europe, but I didn't want to pay restaurant bills or plane tickets so often, so I got cookbooks and learned the rudiments. Working at a regional "lifestyle" magazine helped, since thinking about food was part of the gig. And I remember looking at fancy frying pans from well-known French companies—solid, heavy affairs, with long handles and a lifetime guarantee. They cost like a hundred bucks 20 years ago, and to a person who has always mistakenly considered himself sensible that seemed like too much money to pay. A lifetime guarantee! What does that even mean? It's good for, like, ever, right? I had to chuckle—I could see myself as a little old man tottering into the fancy-dancy kitchenware store, waving a pan that, after the passage of many decades, had finally worn out like the wonderful one-horse shay.

Well, I'm a good bit older now and I've gone through any number of second-rate frying pans. They last two, three, four years and they're no good any more. Of course, of course I've spent more than a hundred bucks on all these pans. And today or soon I have to go back to Wal-Mart. I bought their cheapest non-stick the other day as a stop-gap while I researched more serious options. And the damn thing wasn't flat. You can put it on the counter, push the handle, and it will revolve on its base. It also revolved on my flat glass range and when I tried to use it only the one spot got hot. It burned that spot instantly. Another ruined omelet.

Now I have to go and argue with some sullen Wal-Mart service desk person about getting my eleven dollars back because they sold me useless junk and, like an idiot, I bought it. I'm not quite a little old man yet but I'm old enough to know better. And if I had foreseen this twenty years ago, I'd have bought the fancy pan and been done with it. I'd be having an omelet right now. Instead I'm having to go to Wal-Mart. I don't see anything to chuckle about at all, Younger Self! Thanks for nothin'! Idiot.